


Morbid Ways

by casstayinmyass



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band), Repugnant (Band)
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Blood, Blood Kink, F/M, Forest Sex, Knifeplay, Masochism, Painplay, Rough Sex, Sadism, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25696558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: Mary meets a woman with similar inclinations at a bar, and takes her into the woods to satisfy more than one type of lust.
Relationships: Mary Goore/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	Morbid Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Requested on my tumblr!

It would be nice to forget life for awhile tonight. Preferably all night. Your sex life had turned into a big melting pot of people who went too far or didn’t go far enough, and it was frustrating. Maybe you could at least let off some steam at this club you’d found. It’s not like anyone had the wherewithal to do what you wanted them to—they’re always too scared of hurting you, and you’re stuck finishing things off yourself. You’d probably have more luck at a fetish club. This seemed like any bar you could go to have the regular old kind of sex you’d get after three dates at a coffee shop. Nothing too bad, but it wasn’t what you wanted.

You do a quick sweep of the place, scanning faces to root your judgement in a little evidence. _Shit_. You’d have more luck at a bible camp cafeteria.

You head up to the bar, figuring you may as well get a drink or two before you ditch this place. After a shot is passed down to you, you knock it back, slamming the tiny shooter down and reaching for the crumpled up pack in your pocket. Just for the hell of it, you’d go check to see if there was anyone lurking outside who could give you a thrill.

\---

_Fuck._

He had gotten here an hour ago, and it still didn't look like anyone was interested, or even _interesting_. This club isn't his scene. Mary Goore belonged in a dive, a dirty underground cesspool, and this was none of those things. It wasn't the Roxy or anything, just a bar outside of town, but they played house beats and served appletinis. Well, at least there was one good thing about the place. Mary fucking loved appletinis.

“Buddy? Hey! You want another one?” Mary looked up, saw the tattooed bartender glaring at him expectedly. _How long had he been inside his own head?_

 _“_ Shit. Uh, yeah. Just keep ‘em coming, all right?” Mary muttered. “I'm going out for a smoke, I'll be back.”

“Does it look like I give a rat's ass where you go? I ain't holding your seat, princess.” Instead of starting a fight over it as more fragile men would have, Mary just rolls his eyes and flips him the bird. Sure enough, some muscled fuck slips into his stool with a bimbo in his lap as he gets up. _Fuck it. They can share my appletini_.

Busting through the double doors, the beat of the club fades from his ears to the back of his mind as he finds a quiet patch of wall to lean against. Mary looks to his left and sees a girl, standing on her own and flipping a cigarette between her fingers. She's fiddling with something on her arm. Mary zeroes in on it, where she's playing with something bloody. It looks like an open cut. _Fuck. That's hot._ When he tries to make eye contact though, she glances off. Ignoring the twitch in his pants with a sigh and digging around in the back pocket of them, Mary yanks a pack from it.

His damn jeans are too tight, and not for the reason you’d think. It wasn't about showing off his bulge, they just shrunk at the Laundromat. They had that rip on the thigh that he told people was from a knife fight (but was really just a tree stump he had sat on while being edgy in the cemetery) and a Misfits patch on the back left pocket. Mary just kept ripping them at the knees so he could slide himself into them, unwilling to part with the trashy garments. They were one of the few things in his life that held sentimental value.

Mary slipped his smoke between his lips, anticipating the pleasant burn he’d suck in. Flicking his lighter once, twice, it produced no flame. He hit the thing with his palm. “Come on,” he growled, flicking it again, only for it to spark pathetically. He whipped it into the distance, and let the unlit cigarette dangle as the back of his head hit the wall. First he couldn't find anyone to get his dick wet with tonight, and now his dumb lighter was being dumb. Could this night be any more of a drag?

“Need a light, Hot Topic?”

Mary leans forward off the wall, scratching his dirty fingernails through his hair. His gaze again sets upon the hot girl with the cuts. _Maybe his luck’s about to turn around_. “Yeah,” he huffs, “And don’t fuckin’ call me that.” He walks over to her.

“Sure.”

“How'd you know I needed a light?”

You give him a look. “You think I'm stupid? You just lost your mind over there when your Bic wouldn't light.” Mary shrugs.

“The guy stole it off of his asshole for not replacing his lighter.” Silencing his complaints, you flick your lighter for him, and he takes a long, grateful drag. You look the guy beside you up and down. He seems like the type of guy you’d find here, hanging outside a club. But there's something different about him. Something that doesn't fit in here. Mary's eyes fall to your arms again, and he glanced down where he's looking. “Where the fuck did you get those?” he asks. You start to smirk.

“You really want to know?”

“I fucking asked.”

“Fine. I like getting cut.” He lets out a heavy breath of that, and you see the way he shift his position. He's hard in his pants, and his jeans do nothing to hide it. “You like that?” you tease, smirk curling into a grin. He drags on his cigarette, exhaling hastily out his nose as he replies.

“Blood turns me on.”

“Just seeing blood? Or doing it yourself?” You incline your body his way, tracing the slice marks on your arm. “...Watching blood pour out over your hands, knowing it was you who made someone bleed?”

“All of it.” Mary eyes you. “You're awful open about all this. I'm usually getting beaten by a chick's purse by now if I tell ‘em what I’m into.” You shrug, and he goes on. “Okay. I like the feeling of blood on my hands while I rail somebody.” You grin.

“That's fucked up.”

“Shut up, you got fetishes.”

“Yeah I do, and that's one of them. Guess we’re both fucked up.” Mary cocks his head, and gets a little closer to you. You decide not to back away, and he likes this, lips turning up into a wolfish grin.

“You wanna see what I can do for you, babe?”

This guy’s proposition is arousing, as is his attitude. He seems to be the only one around here that’s lit a spark inside you... you decide to take a chance on him. Mary puts out his cigarette against the wall, readjusting his jeans. “Bathroom?”

“Woods,” you respond, “Nobody around to hear me scream.” His eyes darken. You follow the path to the woods, walking in front of him. “You should be leading the way,” you say.

“Scared I'm a serial killer?”

“Realistically speaking, a guy who looked like he just fell out of a time portal from a 90s death metal show who just told me he's into blood is not to be trusted.”

“Hey, that's entrapment. I told you that cuz you made me feel comfortable enough to say it.”

“I’m glad you could get it off your chest.”

He huffs. “You’re into it too. Why do you think we’re eloping to the forest together?”

“Hold up, Bridezilla. Don’t call it eloping, or I’m eloping right out of here.”

“Whatever. If I am a serial killer, you have nothing to worry about. Because I'm not going to kill you, and the chances of another serial killer being around here at the same time as me to come kill us are next to nothing.”

“Are you admitting you’re a serial killer?”

“No.” You smirk at the irritation in his voice.

“Nah. You're just a freaky guy with a blood kink.”

“Don't judge someone by their kinks,” Mary grins, baring endearingly crooked teeth. “I never would have guessed you were a masochist.”

“I guess some of us hide it better than others,” you smile. Mary grabs your arm suddenly, stopping you in the middle of a clearing. Eerie woods straight out of Slenderman reach up to the night sky around you, curtaining you in a shroud of silent darkness.

“I'm going to fuck you so hard,” Mary growls. This promise sounds more predatory than it would have in broad daylight. In here, your own little killing ground, it makes you shiver. 

“You have a condom?”

“I'll pull out.”

“How do I know you don't have an STD or something?”

“Wanna check my dick?” You exhale air through your nose, and dig around in your back pockets.

“Oh, you are _so_ lucky.” You twirl a plastic packet between your fingers, and he snatches it from you, tearing it open with his teeth. “Careful. If you rip that, you get a spirited blow job and that’s it.”

Mary moans as he unzips his fly, rolling the latex over himself. “Wouldn’t that be a pretty sight, huh? Watching you take my dick, painting your face with my cum and your blood mixed together? Nice and pink, sweetheart.” You bite your bottom lip.

“Just bend me over.” Mary's hands slide down your arms, fingers leaving indents in your skin. The air is knocked out of you for a second as Mary uses his knee to buckle both of yours, sending you over a tree stump that’s caked with dirty moss. The smell of earth is thick around you, as is the scent of cigarettes and liquor still on Mary’s breath as he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“You know, we could summon Satan out here and no one would know.”

“They would know if we couldn’t put him back.”

“Hey, I’m experienced with that shit. I summoned a demon once. He told me to fuck off.”

“Then with your expertise, we can hail Satan in an offering of lustful carnage,” you murmur, and frown. “That sounded way more biblical than I intended.” With a throaty chuckle, he grinds against your ass insistently, nudging you forward against the stump. You feel his cock slide up against the black thong sticking out of your jeans, some of his precum already dripping onto you. He groans, and reaches into his waistband, taking out a kitchen knife. You look back at it. “How did you sneak that into the bar?!”

“I told the bouncer it was my dick. He didn’t want to reach down my pants to find out.” Mary shrugs. “His loss.”

"Where the hell did you even get it?" you blurt.

"A kitchen."

"A kitchen? Not your own kitchen?!"

"Does it really matter?" Mary asks, getting irritated. "Jesus fuck, I didn't know this was gonna be a goddamn interrogation when I asked you if you wanted to bang in the woods."

“Big serial killer vibes.”

“Like I said, if I was a serial killer, this wouldn't be as exciting. You’d already be dead.” He leans in closer. _“Don’t pretend like it doesn’t turn you on angel, seein’ this thing.”_

You bite your lip, and feel Mary run the blade down your back, finally coming to the whale tail of your g-string and giving it a slice. Before you can protest the destruction of the undergarment you planned on wearing for the rest of the night, you hear the thud of Mary dropping to his knees behind you. You feel his hands return to your thighs, and his tongue lap out at your entrance. Seconds later, he's curling it just inside your pussy. He moves up to your clit, pulling your legs out for better access and burying his face deeper so he can reach it. His pace is practiced but relentless, licking incessantly like he's trying to beat a record.

“Ah...” you try to gather your thoughts to speak, but can’t seem to. You feel dull his fingernails dig back into your thighs as he surfaces for only a moment.

“Come on, angel. Cum for me.” He gives one last lick up your clit, and your thighs tremble as your climax hits, every muscle in your body tensing. Mary makes an obscene slurping noise, coming up for air. “Jesus fucking Christ, I could cum just from licking your cunt,” he mutters, wiping his mouth. Your pussy clenches again at his words. Mary notices the wiggle your hips, your subtle grind forward, and he raises an eyebrow. “You want my cock, huh?”

“Yes,” you moan, grinding your hips forward.

“Spread your legs wider,” he sneers, and scoffs when you’re only able to make somewhat of an effort. “I got to do all the work here?” He jerks your legs farther apart. Your eyelids flicker shut, and he grabs your wrists, roughly handling them so they're behind your back. You feel the tip of the knife blade drag up your arm from your wrist to your elbow. Your breath catches in your throat, and he looks up at the back of your head. “Since I can’t see your face, babe,” he mutters, “I’m gonna need a word.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” you heave.

“Shit, that’s your every other word, it can’t—”

“No, I just got impaled on a fucking twig, asshole,” you mutter, looking down at your knees. Mary gives an obnoxiously loud snort, flipping his hair out of his eyes.

“I thought you were into pain.”

“So show me pain,” you whisper, looking back over your shoulder, “Safeword is flesh.” Your eyes meet, locked intensely in some kind of sadistic bond you really shouldn’t feel with a stranger. Your line, which really could have been mistaken for a quote from Hellraiser by one less enlightened, had blown Mary’s pupils. Breaking your gaze, you push back against his cock to urge him on. He gets the message, and with a rough thrust, Mary sinks into you, giving your arm a tentative cut at the same time with the knife. Blood runs in rivulets from the superficial cut down your arm, and he takes some with the flat edge of the knife, trailing down your back in streaks. You give a choked out gasp at the sting. Mary digs his thumb into the wound, opened over your old ones, and begins to thrust faster as he sees more blood spill, dripping down. “Fucking gorgeous,” he mutters breathlessly.

“Do it again,” you breathe, a wave of arousal warming you, “Make me bleed, make me bleed—”

“Gonna fuckin’ open you up. Wanna bathe in your blood, babygirl. Wanna taste some, looks so fuckin’ sweet.” He groans, feeling you squeeze around him. He cuts deep in the other arm, and brings the knife up to lick. You cry out at the pain, and start to feel your orgasm approach already. Mary's thrusting recklessly, his skin slapping your ass as he goes harder. He’s not slowing down, fucking both of you full tilt toward the climax. He catches some of the blood, bringing it up to his mouth and licking his hand clean.

You turn back over your shoulder to watch him, alternating between your blood dripping from his lips and where you’re connected below, Mary driving himself into you again and again. You lift yourself up higher, and the switch in angle turns Mary feral. His lips curl up in a snarl, bearing teeth that seem to glint in the moonlight. He grabs your hair, pulling so hard you're sure some has ripped out, and cuts so far into your arm that you start to scream. Some specks of it squirt onto his face, decorating the hollows of his gaunt cheekbones. Teeth bared and covered in your blood, he looks absolutely horrifying; you’ve never been so aroused by an expression alone.

Warmth starts to coil in your stomach as waves of sharp pain sting your skin where the cuts ooze. The twinge is crawling up your arm, the line between the pleasant and painful ache blurring as your body melds into Mary’s behind you, twisting and pulling and slamming toward the peak. Mary digs the knife back as you scream again, your volume reaching a new pitch. He shoves two fingers into your mouth, and you can taste your own blood on it as you suck gratefully. He lets go of your hair, and with his free hand he takes some of the blood dripping from your arm, rubbing it down your ass and between your legs where he's pounding you. He mixes it, transfixed, with your slick, the added fluids making his thrusts even sloppier. Smearing the specks that had squirted onto his face into bloody streaks, his face mirrors the current state of your back. He glances down to your gushing arm to observe how splattered his ratty jeans are by your open wound. His dick throbs inside of you.

“Shit. I think I severed something,” he scowls, and you cum hard, seeing stars. The vice grip you've got around him makes him fall forward, hanging on to you as you both slide around in the mess. He pulls out just in time to pull off the condom, jerk himself in a blur and cum all over your back, white mixing with the red of your blood.

You hold onto the tree stump, mouth agape and ears buzzing with the force of your orgasm and consistency of blood loss. When Mary stands and tries to help you to your feet in a rare show of concern, you bat his hands off, catching your breath. “Do up your fly. I got this.” He watches as you take your shirt off, tear it, and wrap it around your throbbing arm. You stop the bleeding with it, obviously experienced with this sort of thing, and nod to the dropped knife. “Was that sanitary?” Mary crosses his arms.

“I stole it from a suburban mom. Suburban moms always clean their knives up nice.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, “After they kill their husbands.” Mary grins, and helps you up. Watching you brush off your knees and assess the damage, lips swollen from biting and skin raw and stained red, Mary wonders how he got so fucking lucky, finding you tonight. Guess he should find that guy he stole the Bic from, write him a thank you card.

“Name’s Mary,” he shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “If you give a shit.” Regarding the man before you, his awkward stance makes you smile a little. His eyes dart between yours anxiously, as if he’s waiting to see what your next move is. He speaks up again. “Maybe if I buy you a drink, you’ll give a shit?” Mary tilts his head back toward the bar with a crooked smile. His voice is oddly hopeful.

You link your good arm with the charming punk’s, glancing back at the carnage left behind on the forest floor. You do have to admit, you’d never felt that good—Mary knew exactly what buttons to push, and when.

“Let me get this straight: you want to buy me a drink, when I’m half naked and you look like you’ve just walked out of a murder scene.” He smirks, glancing down at your bra and his bloody jeans.

“Maybe we’ll get our drinks for free then, angel.”


End file.
